Name: ____________________________Class Period: _______________________

arter 4

Mrs.

McCuneComp/Lit

The Unknown Citizen By W. H. Auden

(To JS/07 M 378 This Marble Monument Is Erected by the State)

He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to beOne against whom there was no official complaint,And all the reports on his conduct agreeThat, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he was a saint, 5For in everything he did he served the Greater Community.Except for the War till the day he retiredHe worked in a factory and never got fired,But satisfied his employers, Fudge Motors Inc.Yet he wasn't a scab or odd in his views, 10For his Union reports that he paid his dues,(Our report on his Union shows it was sound)And our Social Psychology workers foundThat he was popular with his mates and liked a drink.The Press are convinced that he bought a paper every day 15And that his reactions to advertisements were normal in every way.Policies taken out in his name prove that he was fully insured,And his Health-card shows he was once in a hospital but left it cured.Both Producers Research and High-Grade Living declareHe was fully sensible to the advantages of the Instalment Plan 20And had everything necessary to the Modern Man,A phonograph, a radio, a car and a frigidaire.Our researchers into Public Opinion are contentThat he held the proper opinions for the time of year;When there was peace, he was for peace: when there was war, he went. 25He was married and added five children to the population,Which our Eugenist says was the right number for a parent of his generation.And our teachers report that he never interfered with their education.Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard. 30

Epitaph On A TyrantBy W.H. AudenPerfection, of a kind, was what he was after,And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;He knew human folly like the back of his hand,And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter, 5And when he cried the little children died in the streets.

arter 4

Mrs.

McCuneComp/Lit

Stop All the Clocks, Cut Off the TelephoneBy W. H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,Silence the pianos and with muffled drumBring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead 5Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,My working week and my Sunday rest, 10My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. 15For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Musee des Beaux Arts W. H. Auden

About suffering they were never wrong,The old Masters: how well they understoodIts human position: how it takes placeWhile someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting 5For the miraculous birth, there always must beChildren who did not specially want it to happen, skatingOn a pond at the edge of the wood:They never forgotThat even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course 10Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spotWhere the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horseScratches its innocent behind on a tree.

In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns awayQuite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may 15Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shoneAs it had to on the white legs disappearing into the greenWater, and the expensive delicate ship that must have seenSomething amazing, a boy falling out of the sky, 20Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

The RavenBy Edgar Allen Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door."'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door- 5 Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrowFrom my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore- 10For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore- Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtainThrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, 15"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;- This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; 20But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;- Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, 25Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"- Merely this, and nothing more. 30

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before."Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;- 35 'Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door- 40

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door- Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore."Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, 45Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore; 50For we cannot help agreeing that no living human beingEver yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only 55That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before-On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." Then the bird said, "Nevermore." 60

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful DisasterFollowed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore 65 Of 'Never- nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linkingFancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore- 70What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressingTo the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 75On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censerSwung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. 80"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent theeRespite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or devil!- 85Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 90

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or devil!By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." 95 Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting-"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door! 100Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sittingOn the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, 105And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted- nevermore!

One’s-Self I Sing. by Walt Whitman

ONE’S-SELF I sing—a simple, separate Person; Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-masse.

Of Physiology from top to toe I sing; Not physiognomy alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the muse—I say theForm complete is worthier far; 5The Female equally with the male I sing.

Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power, Cheerful—for freest action form’d, under the laws divine, The Modern Man I sing

O Captain! My Captain! by Walt Whitman1O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: But O heart! heart! heart! 5O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

2O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up-for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills; 10For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you the shores a-crowding; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head; It is some dream that on the deck, 15You've fallen cold and dead.

3My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done; From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

Ashes of Soldiers. by Walt Whitman

ASHES of soldiers! As I muse, retrospective, murmuring a chant in thought, Lo! the war resumes—again to my sense your shapes, And again the advance of armies.

Noiseless as mists and vapors, 5From their graves in the trenches ascending, From the cemeteries all through Virginia and Tennessee, From every point of the compass, out of the countless unnamed graves, In wafted clouds, in myraids large, or squads of twos or threes, or single ones, they come, And silently gather round me. 10

Now sound no note, O trumpeters! Not at the head of my cavalry, parading on spirited horses, With sabres drawn and glist’ning, and carbines by their thighs—(ah, my brave horsemen! My handsome, tan-faced horsemen! what life, what joy and pride, With all the perils, were yours!) 15

Nor you drummers—neither at reveille, at dawn, Nor the long roll alarming the camp—nor even the muffled beat for a burial; Nothing from you, this time, O drummers, bearing my warlike drums.

But aside from these, and the marts of wealth, and the crowded promenade, Admitting around me comrades close, unseen by the rest, and voiceless, 20The slain elate and alive again—the dust and debris alive, I chant this chant of my silent soul, in the name of all dead soldiers.

Faces so pale, with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather closer yet; Draw close, but speak not.

Phantoms of countless lost! 25Invisible to the rest, henceforth become my companions! Follow me ever! desert me not, while I live.

Sweet are the blooming cheeks of the living! sweet are the musical voices sounding! But sweet, ah sweet, are the dead, with their silent eyes.

Dearest comrades! all is over and long gone;But love is not over—and what love, O comrades! 30Perfume from battle-fields rising—up from foetor arising.

Perfume therefore my chant, O love! immortal Love! Give me to bathe the memories of all dead soldiers, Shroud them, embalm them, cover them all over with tender pride!

Perfume all! make all wholesome! 35Make these ashes to nourish and blossom, O love! O chant! solve all, fructify all with the last chemistry.

Give me exhaustless—make me a fountain, That I exhale love from me wherever I go, like a moist perennial dew,For the ashes of all dead soldiers. 40

Thoughts. by Walt Whitman

OF Public Opinion; Of a calm and cool fiat, sooner or later, (How impassive! How certain and final!) Of the President with pale face, asking secretly to himself, What will the people say at last? Of the frivolous Judge—Of the corrupt Congressman, Governor, Mayor—Of such as these, standing helpless and exposed; 5Of the mumbling and screaming priest—(soon, soon deserted;)Of the lessening, year by year, of venerableness, and of the dicta of officers, statutes, pulpits, schools; Of the rising forever taller and stronger and broader, of the intuitions of men and women, and of self-esteem, and of personality; —Of the New World—Of the Democracies, resplendent, en-masse; Of the conformity of politics, armies, navies, to them and to me, 10Of the shining sun by them—Of the inherent light, greater than the rest,Of the envelopment of all by them, and of the effusion of all from them.

Mirror

Sylvia Plath

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.Whatever I see I swallow immediatelyJust as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.I am not cruel, only truthful ‚The eye of a little god, four-cornered.Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall. 5It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so longI think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,Searching my reaches for what she really is. 10Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.I am important to her. She comes and goes.Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness. 15In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old womanRises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

DaddyBy Sylvia Plath

You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo. 5

Daddy, I have had to kill you. You died before I had time—— Marble-heavy, a bag full of God, Ghastly statue with one gray toe Big as a Frisco seal 10

And a head in the freakish Atlantic Where it pours bean green over blue In the waters off beautiful Nauset. I used to pray to recover you. Ach, du. 15

In the German tongue, in the Polish town Scraped flat by the roller Of wars, wars, wars. But the name of the town is common. My Polack friend 20

Says there are a dozen or two. So I never could tell where you Put your foot, your root, I never could talk to you. The tongue stuck in my jaw. 25

It stuck in a barb wire snare. Ich, ich, ich, ich, I could hardly speak. I thought every German was you. And the language obscene 30

An engine, an engine Chuffing me off like a Jew. A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen. I began to talk like a Jew. I think I may well be a Jew. 35

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna Are not very pure or true. With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack

I may be a bit of a Jew. 40

I have always been scared of you, With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo. And your neat mustache And your Aryan eye, bright blue. Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You—— 45

Not God but a swastika So black no sky could squeak through. Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you. 50

You stand at the blackboard, daddy, In the picture I have of you, A cleft in your chin instead of your foot But no less a devil for that, no not Any less the black man who 55

Bit my pretty red heart in two. I was ten when they buried you. At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do. 60

But they pulled me out of the sack, And they stuck me together with glue. And then I knew what to do. I made a model of you, A man in black with a Meinkampf look 65

And a love of the rack and the screw. And I said I do, I do. So daddy, I’m finally through. The black telephone’s off at the root, The voices just can’t worm through. 70

If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two—— The vampire who said he was you And drank my blood for a year, Seven years, if you want to know. Daddy, you can lie back now. 75

There’s a stake in your fat black heart And the villagers never liked you. They are dancing and stamping on you. They always knew it was you. Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through. 80

The GatesBy Cunninlynguists (Featuring Tonedeff)

Tell the Reverend Harris to pray for me, Lord I ain't gonna live I don't believe I'm gonna live to get much older [Tonedeff] Lights out, so peaceful, stressless Things used to seem so restless 5 Forgive me please, see I need to address this Just haven't been this breathless since I met this Woman who lept into my life when I was reckless Mothered my blessed kid, but was destined to exit early Guess you can say I've been blessed with the best gifts 10 Reminiscing, holding her necklace in my clenched fist Ha, it's funny how we move in sudden directions Dedicated my life to the public's protection Never remarried cause love's an investment Besides, I had a baby girl to worry about 15 That would struggle to blend in Now as I think, a weightlessness is interrupting my senses A pulsing tension carries my very frame I rise up in ascension - WAIT! I try to escape, but I arrive at these gates 20 I see a figure standing guard who invites me to pray [Chorus] I've tried it all At the gates of Hell I'm going to lay Down, down 25 [Tonedeff] I walk towards the figure that's extending it's hand I move to enter past the gates yet I'm met with it's grasp [Deacon] Slow down son, there's things to discuss such as family But first, let us talk about vanity [Tonedeff] Vanity?? Man, you're sadly mistaken 30 Either that or your sanity's shaken If you'd examine me patiently You'd retract on your statement I haven't sinned flagrantly, I've acted as faithfully As any other single father 35 Who raised a baby girl graciously

[Deacon] Nakedly, she was at your door after her mother's death Ignorant to racial anger and other stress Later had a mixed baby at her sweet sixteen How did that fit within your picnic scene? 40 [Tonedeff] Sometimes it's too late to fix these things The pristine dream was over Had to face the fact she split these genes with his sick seed With skin the darkest pigment seen And so I kicked and screamed 45 Until we found the peace that distance brings [Deacon] A mixed raced queen, that was your thoughts about her mama Up yonder went her soul, your hate growed from ponders On life, being less trife with a white wife So any instance of y'alls differences it was slice-slice 50 [Tonedeff] Oh my, it's not her race, my daughter's love flies blind I couldn't take her making the same mistakes that crushed my life I'm dumbstruck by these baseless allegations I've saved too many lives of all creeds For you to paint me as a racist 55 I've endangered my own safety to save babies from blazes Black, white, latino, even asian on occasion [Deacon] But why so? [Tonedeff] How dare you question my motivation! [Deacon] No need to second guess, your only aim was to be famous 60 Lord knows, you've left behind scorched souls Black children left chilling, later found burnt whole So sadly, your glory's to come urgently Sentenced to fight fires for eternity

The Apl SongBy Black Eyed Peas

[Chorus in Tagalog] [English Translation:] Lapit mga kaibigan at makinig kayo (Come closer my friends and everyone listen Ako'y may dala-dalang, balita galing sa bayan ko I brought news from my homeland Nais kong ipamahagi ang mga kwento I'll tell you how we live and what goes on Ang mga pangyayaring nagaganap From my beloved homeland.) Sa lupang pinangako 5 Every place got a ghetto this is my version Check it out... Listen closely yo, I got a story to tell A version of my ghetto where life felt for real Some would call it hell but to me it was heaven 10 God gave me the grace, amazin' ways of living How would you feel if you had to catch your meal? Build a hut to live and to eat and chill in. Having to pump the water outta the ground The way we put it down utilizing what is around 15 Like land for farming, river for fishing Everyone helpin' each other whenever they can We makin' it happen, from nothin' to somethin' That's how we be survivin' back in my homeland [Chorus] Yo, its been a while but... 20 I been back home to my homeland, (check it out) to see what's going on Man it feels good to be back at home And it's been a decade, on the journey all alone I was fourteen when I first left Philippines I've been away half my life, but it felt like a day 25 To be next to my mom with her home cooked meal Meant I felt complete, my emotions I feel! Now life has changed for me in the U.S But back at home man, life was a mess... I guess sometimes life's stresses gets you down 30 On your knees, oh brother I wish I could have helped you out... [Chorus]